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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Cotswold Mysteries
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020
It's Christmas, and things are looking good at the Slocombe house. Thea's daughter Jessica has come to stay, much to her stepdaughter Stephanie's delight. But then things take a turn for the worse. A local family, the Frowses, find themselves increasingly harassed by an aggressive landlord. When Beverley Frowse goes missing, Thea and Stephanie both feel they should do their best to help her husband and son to solve the mystery. Christmas Day arrives. There are presents, a turkey, and general goodwill, despite Thea's suppressed hankering to be involved in events at the Frowses' house, where a dead man has been discovered ...
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A Cotswold Christmas Mystery
REBECCA TOPE
5
For Dave and Tasia
Map
Author’s Note
As with other titles in this series, the action is set in a real village. But the individual houses are invented – and in this case liberties have been taken with the layout of roads and properties to the south-west of Chipping Campden.9
Contents
Prologue
One whole week to go until Christmas. Four more days at school. Stephanie and Timmy were both close to bursting with anticipation. ‘We can walk over to see Ant,’ said Thea. ‘You two need to get out for a bit.’
‘Three,’ Stephanie corrected her. ‘Don’t forget Hepzie.’
‘When do I ever forget Hepzie?’ laughed Thea, giving her spaniel a quick ear-tickle.
The walk took them up onto high ground to the west of their village, and across a small road to a large estate where the Frowse family lived in a dilapidated old cottage that was actually a converted stable block on a large rural estate. The route was a section of the Monarch’s Way footpath, which ran for hundreds of miles and was much loved by walkers. On this uninviting Sunday afternoon, however, there were very few examples of this species of humanity. Grey clouds drifted heavily not far above the wolds, but it was not quite raining. Nor was it particularly cold. Gloves and scarves had not been called for, but all three wore woolly hats.10
The procedure for gaining access to the Frowses’ cottage was entertaining in itself. The owner of the estate surrounding the little house had caused an intimidating electrified fence to be erected between his own large mansion and the small residence of his tenants. On their first visit, this had plunged Thea and Stephanie into great confusion. Once you left the road, there was a paved driveway that soon branched off in two directions. If you carried straight on, you encountered a large wrought-iron gate, which had a high wire fence on one side, and a good-sized patch of woodland on the other. The road itself veered sharply away, circling the wood to the west. But if you were visiting the Frowses, you took the smaller branch, which also had an entry gate. This one was more like an ordinary farm gate, but it was equally difficult to pass through. The high fence ran across your path, with the gate an integral part of it. The purpose quickly became clear, as you were confronted by this barrier. The Old Stables was enclosed by a security fence worthy of any prison. Its occupants could only enter or leave via this electronic gate, and the same went for any visitors. There was no back way, other than walking across fields from another larger road to the north. Even then, the fence would prevent access. When challenged about this outrage, the landlord insisted it was intended as added security, deterring intruders, which included deer and foxes. Two of his fields had been enclosed along with the cottage, which he claimed to be the main reason for the fence.
Ant’s parents, Beverley and Digby, scoffed at this piece of blatant dishonesty. ‘What’s so special about the fields?’ Digby demanded. ‘All he keeps in them is those 11dozy alpacas.’ The alpacas had been a whim on the part of the landlord’s wife, and had rapidly become sadly neglected. One of the employees was required to feed them every day, but beyond that nobody gave them any attention. They would run to greet anyone who managed to negotiate the gate, eager for diversion.
Arriving at the gate, pedestrian visitors, as well as those in vehicles, were obliged to request entry by a telephone kept in a small weatherproof box mounted on a post close by. Unless, that is, they knew the passcode; then they could use the keypad that was also in the box. Or so the landlord believed. In fact, Digby Frowse had employed unsuspected computer skills to hack into the software governing this arrangement, so that the mere act of lifting the phone bypassed the code and opened the gate without further ado. Nobody in the family or amongst his friends could understand how he did it, but it worked.
Stephanie delighted in this act of rebellion. Ant had sworn her and the others to secrecy. ‘Old Rufus still thinks it works his way,’ he chuckled. ‘He can’t see the gate from the house, luckily. And the camera only shows cars or people standing a bit further away.’ The CCTV cameras were another outrageous intrusion on the privacy of the Frowse family.
Beverley met them at the door and welcomed them in. Stephanie gave her a hug, as always, and Timmy stood shyly back and was excused from making a similar gesture. Thea was no more demonstrative than he was. ‘Digby’s upstairs and Ant’s walking the dog,’ said 12Beverley. ‘He’ll be back in a minute.’ She was a sturdy woman of few words, in her early sixties. Stephanie knew little about her, other than that her daughter had been murdered in America, not very many years ago. This gave her an aura of tragedy, as it did her husband too. It made them seem slightly distant, as if wrapped in an invisible cloak of misery that they could not shake off, even when chatting and smiling.
Beverley gave them drinks and mince pies and asked one or two questions about Christmas, while they waited for her son and Percy the dog. Digby came downstairs to join them.
‘People!’ he said with a twinkly smile. ‘Good to see you.’
Stephanie settled into a rather doggy chair and observed the scene. The kitchen was immensely untidy, with bottles, boxes, papers, old tin cans, jam jars, utensils, a radio, and many other objects cluttering the central table and much of the floor. Beverley carelessly cleared a small space for the plate of mince pies, but otherwise left everyone to fend for themselves.
Ant and Percy were soon back, as promised. The young man – who was their real friend out of the Frowse family – hung a grey jacket on the back of the door leading to the rest of the house, where it joined several others. The dog flopped down on a muddy piece of material in a corner, which comprised his bed.
‘The daughters are here,’ said Ant. ‘Two of them, anyway.’
‘Already!’ Beverley groaned. ‘Christmas isn’t for another week.’ 13
‘Carla’s going to be sick of them by then,’ said Digby.
‘And Rufus even more so,’ laughed Ant. ‘All they want to do is spend his money.’
‘They deserve each other,’ Beverley snarled. ‘Rotten, the whole lot of them.’
Stephanie was startled at the venom in the woman’s voice. Usually she kept things light when the landlord was under discussion. Everyone fell silent for a moment.
‘Don’t let them get to you, pet,’ said Digby wearily, as if he’d said the same thing a thousand times. ‘We’ll beat them in the end, you’ll see.’
Chapter One
Stephanie Slocombe, aged eleven and three-quarters, had completed the first term at her new school. The last day had just ended and she was going home to wait for Christmas. Her schoolbag was pulling on her shoulder and making her walk crookedly because it was packed with cards and presents from just about everyone in her class. Even nasty Millie Forster, who hated her, had dropped a card for her into the classroom postbox. Stephanie had opened it in horror, aware that she had not sent the girl one herself. There was no time left to post one now, either, unless she could persuade Thea to drive her to the post office to catch the last collection, which was vanishingly unlikely. It was all a great worry, but at least there were a few boys who hadn’t remembered her, which balanced things out a bit.
The special Last Day Lunch was still weighing almost as heavily in her stomach as the schoolbag on her shoulder, mainly because at least three of her friends hated Christmas pudding, so she had helped them to finish theirs. 15
But she did not feel at all overburdened. Instead she skipped lightly up the driveway to the waiting car, driven by her stepmother, Thea. Millie had probably sent the card with the clear intention of embarrassing her, she decided, and could therefore be safely forgotten. It would be stupid to let her spoil these thrilling days before Christmas Day itself.
Thea looked to be in a reasonably good mood. This was not always the case. By a frustrating twist of Local Authority rules, Stephanie was not allowed onto the school bus that went right through Broad Campden and on to more outlying villages. She lived just over a mile away from school, which everyone said was perfectly walkable for someone at a secondary school. Two miles, and the bus might have taken her. So Thea or Dad, who did not think it walkable at all, had to drive her to school in the morning and bring her back in the afternoon. There had been talk of sharing with other parents, but there was nobody in Broad Campden who seemed to fit the bill. Two Year Ten girls and a boy in the sixth form were the only ones who lived anywhere near the Slocombes.
Thea complained quite a lot about this extra driving. ‘Another nine years of this,’ she moaned, having worked out that Timmy would be at school for that long. ‘It’s a life sentence.’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ her husband had reproached her. ‘It’s only for another year or two. They can walk it when there’s two of them, at least in the summer. And I already take her some mornings.’ 16
‘I know you do—’ Stephanie was sure Thea had been going to start sounding off about having to answer the phone when Drew was out, which was nearly as bad as driving back and forth to school. Thea’s restless nature was all too familiar after a year and a bit of living with her. Things had not gone nearly as smoothly as everyone had thought they would when there’d been a funny little wedding with hardly any people and a sort-of party in a pub afterwards. Stephanie still remembered how her mum had always been around, even before she got so ill and could hardly get out of bed. Thea was a lot more restless, never altogether satisfied. But at least she loved Dad. The special smile she reserved just for him was enough to keep Stephanie on her side. Dad was lucky in that respect, although he didn’t always seem to remember it. Sometimes he forgot to smile back, and Thea would shake her head about it, and look cross. Stephanie always wanted to explain about the way his mind worked; how he could only do one thing at a time, and you just had to wait your turn for his attention. Thea wasn’t good at waiting. It was like having a semi-wild animal in the family – or maybe a selkie. A creature that was always yearning to be somewhere else, however much she might love the people she lived with. The story of the beautiful fisherman’s wife who was actually a transformed seal had gripped Stephanie in Year Six, not least because she could see how close to her own family life it was. One night she actually had a dream that Thea turned back into a seal and swam away for ever.
Stories about stepmothers were much less easy to relate to. Thea wasn’t wicked or jealous or cruel. She 17was clever and funny and pretty, and kind most of the time. She helped with homework and suggested projects. And she was really good at birthdays. She had interesting relations, as well, like Auntie Jocelyn and her five children, all older than Stephanie. That was because Thea was quite a lot older than Dad, which was another thing that made them unusual.
‘Have you done the Christmas tree?’ she asked now.
‘Not yet. I was waiting for you. I thought you’d want to help.’
Stephanie sighed. She had hoped that Dad would explain properly to Thea that it had been a tradition, ever since Stephanie was born, for the adults to decorate the tree in secret and then make a big thing of revealing it, a few days before Christmas Eve. That had evolved into the last day of term, once Stephanie started school. There had been two wonderful exciting Christmases before Mum got really ill and then it didn’t happen in quite the same way after that. At least, Drew had done it instead, which had been good enough in the circumstances. ‘Tell her, Dad,’ Stephanie had urged him. ‘It was such rubbish last year, we need to get it right this time. We have to keep it the same as it used to be.’ And he had promised he would.
‘I got some new baubles and things for it, months ago, in Poundland, remember?’
There was every reason to go along with Thea, and trust her, Stephanie told herself, despite the appeals to Drew. If this Christmas turned out to be different, it was still Christmas. The only element missing was a crib. She would have liked a crib, similar to the one they had 18in the window of one of the houses in the village. She mentioned it to her father.
‘I don’t really do religion,’ he said. ‘You know that.’
This had become something of an issue over the past few months. ‘But you sometimes have a vicar for the funerals,’ she reminded him. ‘That’s religion.’
‘That’s my job,’ he argued. ‘I do what the families want, whether it fits with my own beliefs or not.’
‘But this is what Christmas is all about. I mean – Jesus being born. It seems wrong to just ignore that altogether.’
‘Most people in this country do,’ he assured her. ‘They focus on food, and bright shiny decorations, and presents and family togetherness. Isn’t that enough for you?’
‘Not necessarily in that order,’ interrupted Thea, who’d been listening in. ‘Personally, the food comes last.’
She wasn’t religious either. Stephanie had never heard her say a single thing about God or Jesus or heaven, as far as she could remember. There was a sense of a pent-up need to have some sort of conversation about it, if not with her parents, then with somebody.
But there was so much magic in the very fact of Christmas itself, after all – enough to keep everybody happy. ‘Yes,’ she said now, about the decorations. ‘They’re brilliant. Has Dad been busy today?’
‘Fairly.’ Thea had no problem with the change of subject. ‘People seem to die quite a lot around Christmas. Usually just after, actually, but there was a new one today. Dad’s been doing office stuff mostly.’
Drew Slocombe was an undertaker, running his own alternative burial ground in a field not far from the 19house. Assisted by Andrew Emerson, he performed every aspect of the work in a simple no-frills style that appealed to a dependable minority of people. A familiar face at hospices in the area, he provided a friendly, affordable service that ensured a regular stream of customers. As prices rose steadily for mainstream funerals, Drew kept his remarkably low. As a result, the Slocombes had very little cash to spare. If Thea hadn’t sold the house she had owned in Oxfordshire, they’d have needed state benefits and free school dinners. But now there was also a plan to sell the original Slocombe burial field back in Somerset, where Drew and his family had lived before he met Thea. Stephanie was unsure as to how she felt about this, suspecting that if she had been ten years older, Dad would have let her run it for him. As it was, his one-time partner Maggs had let them all down by deciding she wanted to follow a different line of business from then on. Without her, Peaceful Repose was more trouble than it was worth. As the memories faded, Stephanie found it easy enough to deal with the loss of her one-time home. Timmy was even less concerned than she was. There was so much going on here in Broad Campden – the new school, new friends, even a new cousin – that the past just slid away unregretted.
Stephanie liked Andrew well enough, not thinking of him as a substitute for Maggs, because he was so completely different. He hardly seemed to notice her, for one thing. When he did come to the house, it was always Timmy he concentrated on. He had been a farmer until a 20couple of years ago, but he had seemed delighted to have given that up and gone into the funeral business instead. He knew the Cotswolds well, and had a lot of useful friends scattered across the villages.
They were home in no time, the conversation scarcely started before they were lugging bags out of the car. ‘People shouldn’t die at Christmas,’ Stephanie said. ‘There should be a law.’
Thea laughed. ‘I agree with you there,’ she said.
The schoolbag was upended onto the kitchen table and the cards scrupulously pinned to the long tape festooning the living room, almost doubling the display. ‘All these presents have to go under the tree,’ said Stephanie. ‘I’ll open them on the day.’
Timmy had been home for barely ten minutes when his sister and stepmother got back. Still at the primary school, he qualified for a place on the bus, which dropped him at the top of the lane where they lived. His haul of Christmas greetings cards and gifts was considerably smaller than Stephanie’s. In fact, the only actual present was from his friend Caleb. ‘Boys don’t bother with that stuff so much,’ said Stephanie kindly. ‘Mine are all going to be nail polish and snazzy socks, I expect.’
‘Mm,’ said the boy with a shrug.
The living room certainly looked very festive. Thea had produced a box of tinsel and red candles and artificial holly, saved from the previous year. ‘I’ve had this stuff for ages. I guess it’s looking a bit sad now,’ she admitted. Drew discovered that his own similar box 21had not survived the move from Somerset. ‘I must have chucked it out,’ he said, scratching his head. ‘I’ve no idea when I last saw it.’
So Thea had thrown herself into the whole business, getting great armfuls of silver and gold and red decorations from Poundland and other places, pinning them all over the room in a gaudy exhibition of Christmas spirit that made the room seem small and magical, like a fairy’s cave. Or so Stephanie observed, in wholehearted admiration when Thea ushered everybody in to admire her handiwork. ‘Worth waiting for – right?’ she said.
‘Do fairies live in caves?’ wondered Timmy.
‘Grottoes,’ said Drew.
‘That’s the same thing,’ said his pedantic daughter.
Drew was making an effort as well. He had gone on his own private shopping expedition two weekends ago and come back with a large bag bulging in intriguing ways. ‘Don’t look!’ he ordered and hurried through to his office at the back of the house.
The air was crackling with anticipation. So many new things were going to happen, one after another. For a start, Andrew and Fiona Emerson had been invited to join the Slocombes for drinks the next evening. Their daughter, who usually did the honours by having them to stay for several days around Christmas, had a new baby and was letting her in-laws take the strain. As an added novelty, Thea’s brother Damien had announced, with no consultation, that he and his wife and small daughter would be paying a visit to Broad Campden on the day after Boxing Day, hoping to stay overnight. 22
‘What!’ shrieked Thea, when he phoned. ‘What brought that on?’
‘It’s high time you got to know your niece. You’ve barely even laid eyes on her all year.’
‘I’ve been busy,’ Thea protested feebly.
‘It’ll be good to catch up,’ he said, brooking no argument. He was the eldest in the family and nobody had ever got the hang of arguing with him. Thea conveyed the news to the others with trepidation. ‘It’ll be like a state visit,’ she groaned.
‘It’ll be great,’ her husband assured her. ‘And Stephanie’s going to love the baby, aren’t you, pet?’
Stephanie had blithely agreed that she would definitely relish the company of a baby step-cousin.
‘Not such a baby now,’ Thea reminded them. ‘She must be over two. Same age as Meredith.’
‘It’ll be great,’ said Drew again, as if saying it would make it so. Stephanie’s faith in him never wavered for a moment.
For a family with very few close friends, the Slocombes were suddenly feeling alarmingly popular. Maggs and Den Cooper were coming at New Year, and Thea’s mother was making noises about hardly ever seeing her, with the clear implication that a visit was imminent.
And then there was Jessica.
Chapter Two
Stephanie was the first to throw herself at the young woman who arrived the next morning, closely followed by the spaniel. Having parked her car some distance away, her appearance took them all by surprise. She stood there, big and fair, much more like her aunt Jocelyn in appearance than her mother. ‘It’s not even eleven o’clock yet,’ said Thea.
‘I left soon after eight. Nice, quick drive,’ said Jessica. ‘The M6 wasn’t too bad, considering everybody’s meant to be driving somewhere today. Not a single accident for a change. It was a bit slow, but at least it kept moving. Give us a kiss, Mum – if I can get out of this bear hug.’ She gave Stephanie a squeeze and then edged her aside so as to embrace Thea. ‘Happy Christmas, everybody.’ She crouched down to fondle Hepzie’s long, soft ears. ‘Same as always, doggie-doos.’
Stephanie giggled. ‘That’s not very nice. Doggie-doos is rude.’
‘It’s chaos here already,’ said Thea. ‘But we finally got the tree decorated, didn’t we, Steph?’ 24
Jessica smiled vaguely. ‘I’ve got loads of things in the car. I left it by the church – was that right?’
‘You can probably squeeze it in next to the hearse, actually. There won’t be any more funerals till next week now.’
‘No hurry,’ said Jessica. ‘I just want to slob out for a bit.’
‘Come and see the tree,’ Stephanie urged. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘Where’s Timmy?’
‘In there. He’s counting the minutes.’
‘What?’
‘Till seven o’clock on Christmas morning. That’s when we get our stockings. Dad brings them up to us. Tim’s working out how many minutes are left till then.’
‘Sweet,’ said Jessica with a little sigh.
‘You look tired,’ said Drew, appearing from his room at the back of the house. ‘Too many Christmas parties?’
‘Hardly any, actually. I feel perfectly all right – not really tired, just ready for a break, that’s all.’
‘Well, you can have a nice lie-in tomorrow. We’re all going to be charging our batteries before the onslaught. That’s the plan, anyway.’
Jessica gave him a knowing look. ‘Don’t tempt fate. Your job’s like mine – you never know what the next phone call is going to bring.’
‘People aren’t allowed to die at Christmas,’ said Stephanie firmly. ‘We decided that already.’
‘Quite right,’ smiled her stepsister. ‘The undertaker’s closed for the holiday, and so is the police officer.’
‘Are you a sergeant yet?’ 25
‘First week of January. Quicker than I thought. Takes me a step closer to moving up to CID.’
‘Hey! You never told me that,’ said Thea. ‘When did that happen?’
‘They only told me this week. Came as quite a surprise, what with one thing and another.’ Both women glanced at the child, careful to avoid saying too much. ‘I just hope I’ll be up to it.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ Thea assured her, characteristically optimistic to the point where she often refused to face real trouble. Even Stephanie found this attitude irksome at times, half aware that it was uncomfortably close to laziness. It took a certain kind of energy to accept and deal with problems, which Thea seemed to lack when it concerned her own family. Drew once observed that she could throw herself into amateur detective work when house-sitting without a second thought. But when it came to their own domestic concerns, all she could do was offer bland statements that things would work themselves out. All of which caused Stephanie to worry that there might be some secret reason to be concerned about Jessica’s promotion. Something in the air had changed when it was mentioned.
‘I brought food,’ said Jessica. ‘Nuts, figs, crystallised ginger – that sort of thing. And some decorations.’
‘Thanks,’ said Thea. ‘I only managed a box of dates and some satsumas.’
Drew and Stephanie both looked at her in alarm. ‘You’re not serious?’ said Drew.
‘I mean – as the special extras. You know perfectly 26well I’ve got a turkey and mountains of vegetables. And stuffing. And wine.’
‘Mince pies?’ Again, father and daughter seemed anxious. ‘We finished the ones you bought before,’ explained Stephanie. A very subtle stress on the word bought conveyed an awareness of how things had changed since Karen had been in charge. A brilliant and enthusiastic cook, Drew’s first wife had made everything herself. Not just the pies, but the mincemeat that went inside them – as well as the pudding, stuffing, brandy butter, gravy and bread sauce. Thea just got everything from the supermarket. And last year she didn’t even bother with bread sauce.
‘I’ve got some of them as well,’ said Jessica. ‘We’re going to have a perfect old-fashioned Christmas with all the trimmings – you’ll see.’
Before they knew it, the day was more than half over. Thea provided sausages and mash for lunch, followed by ice cream. Timmy talked about Pokémon and Drew lit the log fire. There was a sense of suspension, waiting for the day to be over. Stephanie buried herself in Through the Looking-Glass, which she was reading for the third time. She could recite ‘Jabberwocky’ as well as ‘The Walrus and the Carpenter’, which Thea said would have been old-fashioned even when she was a child. Stephanie had never even tried to describe the powerful sense of wonderment and delight she derived from the book. It didn’t fade with repeated readings – the opposite, if anything. Small details that she had previously missed came vividly to life. The knitting sheep, the alarming Red 27Queen, the elusive references to the game of chess, all held her in thrall. It was in every way infinitely superior to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, which seemed childish and thin by comparison.
True to her word, Jessica slumped passively in the warm sitting room, toying with her phone now and then, but showing no signs of restlessness. ‘You still haven’t moved your car,’ said Thea, at three o’clock.
‘And nobody’s walked the dog,’ said Drew.
‘I took her out after breakfast, actually,’ his wife corrected him. ‘She doesn’t need anything more than that.’
It was already getting dark. None of the immediate neighbours had put Christmas lights outside, so there was little sense of festivity until you walked along the main street of Broad Campden. There, one or two houses had decorated their windows with snowflake patterns, and wound coloured lights round their garden trees. The pub had a lovely big Christmas tree as well.
‘I’ll go and bring my car down, then,’ said Jessica.
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Stephanie, allowing no scope for argument.
They walked up the short lane to where the car was tucked neatly beside the church wall. Everything was quiet. It was December the twenty-second. ‘Shortest day yesterday – or maybe today. I’m never altogether sure,’ said Jessica. ‘That’s why they put Christmas at this time of year. By the twenty-fifth, they must have noticed that the sun was setting a minute or two later, and the seasons were turning again.’
‘I know. It was all pagan before the Christians came 28and monopolised it. Even the churches were mostly built on old pagan sites.’
Jessica laughed. ‘I suppose you would know all about that sort of thing, living in a place like this.’
‘Why?’ Stephanie was genuinely bemused.
‘Oh – well, doesn’t it all seem incredibly ancient here? These rolling hills – wolds, or whatever they’re called. They seem like the graves of giants and prehistoric gods to me. Even the trees look about a thousand years old.’
‘More like two hundred. But there is a lot of history round here,’ Stephanie acknowledged. ‘Thea’s always going on about it.’
‘What about that one, then?’ Jessica was pointing at the very prominent tree growing on a grassy mound near the church. ‘It looks as if it’s been there for ever.’
The tree was in shadow, only illuminated by faint light coming from the houses behind it. ‘That?’ scoffed Stephanie. ‘That’s a cherry. They don’t live very long at all.’
‘I stand corrected,’ said Jessica. ‘Now let’s get back. Mum might be making some tea by now.’
She drove cautiously down the lane, and managed to manoeuvre the car into the scanty space in front of Drew’s hearse. ‘He’s sure he won’t need it, then?’ she asked.
‘If there’s an urgent removal, he’ll take Andrew’s van. That doesn’t live here. We’re very organised,’ Stephanie boasted.
‘You keep bodies here, do you?’
Stephanie gave her stepsister a look, that was lost in the gloom of the back garden. ‘You know we do. But you can’t reach them from the house. You have to go 29outside and in again. There are regulations.’ She waved at the additional structure attached to the back of the house. It had been a utility room or scullery before the Slocombes moved in, but minor alterations had turned it into a very small mortuary. Drew was still tinkering with it, in the hope of finding space for better storage.
‘I suppose you get used to it,’ said Jessica, with a little shiver.
‘There’s absolutely nothing to worry about,’ said the child earnestly. ‘The dead really are no trouble at all. And besides, there’s nobody there now. We’re having a holiday from funerals – we told you that already.’
Jessica was lifting a large cardboard box from the boot. ‘Here – you can give me a hand,’ she puffed. ‘Take that bag, will you? And shut the boot for me.’
Stephanie gave her usual competent assistance and started to walk round to the front of the house. ‘Oh!’ she yelped, as she stepped out into the lane. ‘Who’s that?’
A figure was moving quickly towards the field that opened out at the end of the drivable roadway. All she could see was a silhouette – which appeared to be a person with three legs. It proceeded purposefully without looking back, and was soon out of sight. ‘Did you see?’ she asked Jessica.
‘What? I can’t see anything over this box. I’m going to trip over something if I’m not careful.’
‘Somebody went down there. They didn’t want to be seen. They’ve gone now.’
‘Are you sure? Wait a minute. Let’s get inside and put everything down.’30
Stephanie tried to quell the feeling of panic, telling herself that anybody was allowed to walk along the lane, even if it didn’t lead anywhere. There were two more houses between theirs and the field – but she was sure the person hadn’t belonged to either of them. It wasn’t Mr Shipley from opposite, either. And it was dark. Nobody went out for walks in fields when it was dark – even if it was only four o’clock.
Nobody wanted to listen to her thin little story, once they were back in the house. An hour or two passed in a kind of quiet aimlessness. Jessica forced Tim into a belated hug and another long discussion about Pokémon. As far as Stephanie was concerned, Pokémon was yesterday’s passion and anybody still obsessed with it was embarrassing. Thea was faffing about in the kitchen, rummaging in Jessica’s box of goodies and muttering to herself. Drew was – incredibly – on the phone to somebody in his room at the back. The dining room had been turned into his office, with a filing cabinet and shelves and phone and computer. Hepzibah was running back and forth, counting feet and making sure everybody knew she was there. Stephanie hovered in the hallway, trying to forget the figure she’d seen outside. After all, life was full of such moments, where there was an impenetrable adult logic to whatever was going on, and to reveal bewilderment was often to invite derision. Grown-ups didn’t mind the dark, especially in the countryside, she supposed. Except that they generally carried a torch – and wasn’t there a very strong suggestion that activities carried out in darkness were 31almost always unlawful, or at least suspicious? There was something horrible called lamping, for a start. And something even more ghastly called dogging that a boy at school had sniggered about only a few days ago.
But it was that third leg that bothered her most of all. Because it was very likely to have been a gun – one with a long muzzle that was undoubtedly intended to shoot something. Or someone. Because wasn’t that the whole point of guns?
In the Old Stables on the Crossfield Estate, at eight o’clock on Friday evening, the Frowse family found itself reduced to two. ‘Where’s your mother?’ asked Digby. ‘I haven’t seen her at all today. Or yesterday, come to think of it. Did she say she was going somewhere?’
‘She didn’t say anything to me,’ returned his son. ‘I guess she just took the car and went. She’s sure to have told you where and you’ve forgotten.’
‘What a weird lot we are,’ sighed Digby. ‘You’d think we’d have missed her before now. It did occur to me to wonder last night when there wasn’t any supper.’
‘She’s been out every evening this week, pretty much. I just assumed she was having a drink with some pals. There was all that stuff in the fridge, after all, for us to make supper with. Didn’t she come home to sleep?’
‘Didn’t hear her.’ The Frowses all had separate bedrooms, and unusually separate lives, although Ant couldn’t recall a time when it had taken a whole day, or longer, before noticing someone was unaccountably absent. 32
‘If she’s taken the car, that just leaves us with the van,’ said Digby crossly.
‘That’s okay, surely? Where do you want to go?’
‘I might fancy meeting a few mates for a Christmas tipple.’
‘If you were going to do that, you’d have gone by now. Look – the chances are Mum said where she was going, but neither of us listened when she mentioned it. I do remember something about a quick trip to London – but that was a week ago. Could be she was always meaning to go yesterday.’
‘Not very likely,’ said his father, with a small frown. ‘The roads are sure to be awful, and won’t London be absolute bedlam? Not her sort of thing at all, this time of year. It’d take all day to get there and back. I wish we knew exactly when she went.’
‘She might have gone on the train. The car’s probably at the station.’ Ant was finding his father’s attitude contradictory. He appeared vaguely worried, while at the same time taking an entirely selfish line. ‘Why does it matter what time she went, anyway?’
Digby sighed and pinched his nose. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I mean – I know she’s unpredictable, but doesn’t this seem a bit … unusual, even for her?’
Antares looked around the disorderly house. Their constantly critical landlord did have a point – they did live like Gypsies. Or rather, like the old-fashioned, politically dubious idea people once had of Gypsies. The people the Irish referred to as ‘tinkers’, who set up camp in lay-bys and strewed a wide area with bits 33of scrap metal and other detritus. They set up washing lines and tied up ponies and dogs. Ant had seen just such a habitation in County Wicklow, when he was about eight. They’d been visiting Digby’s brother, who had moved to Ireland in his twenties. When he glanced out of the kitchen window now to view the front garden, the similarities were inescapable. Digby was a magpie, visiting local auction rooms and car boot sales and coming home with every kind of junk. Most of it was set down on the patch of grass between the house and the driveway and never attended to again.
Inside was not much better. Digby and Beverley had moved into separate bedrooms around the time Aldebaran had died, and filled each room with paraphernalia. In Digby’s there was a computer, scores of books, stacks of printed-out text and boxes of junk that would decay or disintegrate if left outside. In the past year he had drifted into selling as well as buying, setting up his own car boot two or three days a week, weather and work obligations permitting. ‘This is my stock,’ he would say, waving vaguely at the boxes. He had begun to focus on old Bakelite radios and telephones, along with table lamps and car mascots. ‘People collect this sort of thing, you know,’ he asserted. Some of the lamps were so old they were fuelled by oil.
In Beverley’s room there was also a laptop and books, but her studies were much more focused. She was teaching herself law, with special regard to property rights, tenantry laws and council responsibilities. Nobody would have been surprised if she had suddenly 34announced an intention to go into local politics.
‘She’s probably just sick of this house,’ said Ant now. ‘Carla’s daughters will have been the final straw.’
‘You could be right. It’s like being under surveillance by the Stasi – even if we have worked out how to dodge the cameras.’
The CCTV cameras, ostensibly intended to deter burglars and other intruders, overlooked the Frowses’ cottage at the front. If the family left by the main door, walked down to the small parking area and drove down the drive, every step would be captured. But they had soon devised a system whereby they left through the back door, walked in a loop around the side of the house, and reached their vehicles without being seen. Little by little, they had shifted the parking area out of range, too. But there was no avoiding the camera down at the electric gate. The only satisfaction there was that the landlord couldn’t see who was inside the car as it drove away.
To Ant, this was mostly just a game. He didn’t let it affect him emotionally, beyond the concern he felt at the way it upset his parents. His mother was right in saying it was definite harassment and intimidation, and she wrote regular letters to the Housing Department to say exactly that. She kept a detailed dossier with every tiny event logged, and a copy of every letter. She was talking about buying a ‘dashcam’ to set up inside their car, so that any physical approaches that occurred in the driveway could be recorded. This was because there had been one occasion when Rufus Blackwood had stopped her at the gate and started accusing her of letting their 35dog Percy trespass on forbidden ground. Carla owned a precious pedigree Pekinese, of all things, and the existence of other dogs presented a direct threat to its welfare, apparently.
‘They’ll be too busy with Christmas to bother about us,’ said Ant. ‘They’ve kept at a distance so far, anyway.’
Digby said nothing and Ant went on, ‘I’m going to try and phone Mum and see what’s she’s up to.’
But when he did just that, the phone was unresponsive. ‘She’s switched it off,’ he said.
‘What’s new?’ said Digby.
Ant himself had plans for the evening. Although not considering himself to be in a committed relationship, he did have a female friend whose company he enjoyed. Alice Whitworth lived in Chipping Campden with her young daughter and two corgis. Because of the child, Ant was never permitted to stay overnight – except when young Lydia was sleeping at her father’s, which did not happen very often, because he lived in Birmingham. Alice and Ant had known each other since school, off and on, and had an easy understanding that never developed into anything serious.
‘I’m going over to see Alice,’ he said. ‘I’ll probably be late back. I’ll go on the bike, so it won’t matter if I drink.’
‘Lydia not at her dad’s for Christmas, then?’
‘Certainly not. But she is going there for New Year’s Day, I think. Staying a night or two.’
‘Ah well. She’s right, you know. Best not to confuse the kid,’ said Digby, as he had said many times before. Ant didn’t argue. They had all seen enough bewildered 36children from broken families to understand the pitfalls. ‘It’s not as if you’re aiming to marry her, now is it?’
‘Doesn’t look like it,’ sighed Ant, who was beginning to resign himself to perpetual bachelorhood. ‘If I do, it won’t be till Lydia’s about sixteen.’
‘Well, don’t worry about me,’ said Digby. ‘I’m going to see if I can get that radio to work. I think if I give it a better aerial, I might get somewhere. And your mother’s sure to be back before bedtime.’
‘Maybe clean the place up a bit, as well,’ said Ant, with a cheeky grin.
‘I might just do that,’ said his father.
Chapter Three
Thea Slocombe was doing her best to concentrate on Christmas. She owed it to Drew and his children to make the best possible effort. The year before, everyone had been finding their feet and wondering how this newly formed family was going to work out. They had all been treading carefully, wary of hurting each other’s feelings or trampling on sacrosanct ground, so that Christmas had turned into a somewhat scrappy event, with everybody going through the motions with far too much care. It was more relaxed now, but expectations were higher. Memories of Karen were inevitably more vivid at such a time, her special Christmas touches still important to her children. The tree was a prime example. Drew had explained it, with some embarrassment, leaving it to Thea to decide whether or not to adhere to the ritual established by his first wife. ‘That’s not fair,’ she had wailed. ‘Can’t you take an executive decision and then explain it to them?’
‘I might if I knew what the decision was,’ he said reasonably. 38
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ll do my best, I suppose, to keep things as they were. There’s no sense in making changes for the sake of it. The trouble is, I know I won’t make such a good job of it. We’ve already established that Karen put a lot more into the whole thing than I’m ever going to.’
‘They’re still very young,’ he had pleaded. ‘Just give it three or four more years. Stockings, treasure hunt, mince pie for Santa. It’s all quite ordinary, really.’
‘Treasure hunt?’ Thea had echoed worriedly.
‘Little presents hidden round the house. We bought them with money that Karen’s relations sent. Wrapped in colour-coded paper, red for Tim and yellow for Stephanie.’
‘Well, let’s cut that one out, at least,’ Thea said. ‘Not least because it doesn’t seem likely that the relatives – whoever they are – are still going to send any money.’
‘They didn’t last year, come to think of it. They must think that now I’ve got you, they can forget all about me and my kids.’
There were further details, such as roasted chestnuts, mistletoe hung from a door frame, and the exact kind of satsuma. ‘The ones that are really easy to peel,’ Drew specified.
It wasn’t, she acknowledged, that these were especially outlandish requests. They were much the same as she and Carl had included in their own Christmases. But that had been a long time ago and since Carl died, she had foisted herself on Jocelyn most years, leaving her sister to construct whatever festive frolics took her fancy. 39
Thea herself liked Christmas well enough, recognising that without it the dark days of winter would be intolerable. December flew by in a whirl of preparations, so that by the time the decorations came down the evenings were lighter by a few minutes and there was hope for better days. She liked the excitement of children and the coloured lights everywhere. What she did not like was the expense and the relentless advertising. She had assumed that Drew felt the same, and was largely reassured in that respect. He did, however, insist on spending unreasonable sums of money on his children. The previous year had seen them both in receipt of lavish toys, which had been all too quickly abandoned, the money wasted. Although he was taking more care this year to fit the gift to the individual child, he was still spending far more than Thea thought necessary. From force of habit he continued to take charge of their clothes, making a special outing to select new outfits, letting them have whatever they wanted. Thea stepped back, thankful that at least one aspect of their maintenance could be avoided. Drew also saw to their haircuts, rather to Thea’s amusement.
‘You don’t have to get them anything,’ he had told her, regarding the Christmas presents. ‘These are from both of us.’
‘That’s something, I suppose,’ she sighed, eyeing the purchases with disfavour. ‘But they really don’t need such big things, you know.’
‘So you keep telling me. I happen to disagree.’ His firm stand was enough to silence her, at least for that year.
Her share of the labour, as always, came down to 40food and household management – making beds, putting up decorations.
‘Is there anything else we need?’ she asked the girls, later on Friday afternoon. ‘Speak now, if there is, because I really don’t want to go to the shops again after tomorrow.’
Jessica and Stephanie exchanged looks. ‘Cranberry sauce?’ said Jessica.
‘Got it.’
‘A present for everyone – that’s me, Drew, two kids.’
